


Phantom

by EvilPeaches



Series: The Dungeon Master [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Choking, Consensual, Cum Marking, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Dark, Dirty Talk, Disturbing Themes, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Feminization Slurs, Light BDSM, M/M, Masturbation, Mentioned: Watersports, Obsessive Behavior, POV Ramsay Bolton, Personality Disorders, Possessive Behavior, Power Dynamics, Ramsay & Walda Interactions, Rimming, Sadism, The Collar, The Master Has Issues, Topping from the Bottom, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2020-09-27 14:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20409265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilPeaches/pseuds/EvilPeaches
Summary: It’s been a year and although Theon wears the collar, he holds the leash and muzzle.Metaphorically, of course.Not that Theon knows it.





	1. Phantom Pt. I

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I do not own Game of Thrones or the characters. All belong to George R. R. Martin.
> 
> **AN:** Ah yes. I'm back for a bit :D This is a short, sequel follow-up to "The Dungeon Master", so if you haven't read that, you may be confused.

It’s strange now, walking into the Dreadfort.

He doesn’t sleep here, not anymore. Hasn’t in months. His father has left his room untouched, just in case. A mocking gesture rather than a fond one, a slight that implies Ramsay will be back, there’s no way that things can possibly remain the way they are.

And yet.

And yet, here they are a year later.

It probably burns his father inside out, if the icy bastard feels anything at under that bored façade of his. Ramsay stormed out of his father’s home a year ago and into his own with his submissive in tow. Though, by this point in time, hiding behind the wall of disinterest doesn’t work, not even on himself.

Theon isn’t just his submissive; Theon is just _his_.

Ramsay loathes the word boyfriend. Or significant other. The words are gross, disgusting, attached to emotional things and concepts that he understands very little about. He understands want. Lust. Needing baser things. Unfortunately, Theon needs more than just ‘baser things’ from Ramsay.

Theon needs more than his cock. His tongue. Degradation. Hell, Theon doesn’t even want Ramsay’s money and all the delights that come with it. No, Theon wants something fucking else.

He likes having his emotional needs met, which has always been _a struggle_.

Because, you see, Ramsay objectively knows what emotions are right, knows what emotions are expected in any given situation. The problem is, he doesn’t always _care_. He doesn’t feel the same way and the things that he enjoys are considered heinous and wrong to any form of society.

Despite his difficulty with human emotions, Ramsay wants Theon. Not just wants him; he fucking needs him firmly under his grasp. The very thought of a loss of control, to this day, is enough to make Ramsay shake with anxiety.

Their one year is tomorrow and Ramsay doesn’t know what to do about it. He can’t sit and pretend he knows, because he doesn’t. This is the longest relationship he’s ever had, at least one where he didn’t get a person killed or cause the person to kill themselves.

Well, Theon almost did that once, but that _isn’t_ the point.

No matter how much Ramsay lies to himself, Theon is the only thing he can’t let go of. He wants to keep him and keeping Theon requires effort. And maintenance. Which, is weak and despicable all on its own. Theon should just want to stay with Ramsay, but he doesn’t. Any time Ramsay loses control of himself or begins to neglect Theon’s emotions, the other man always withdraws, becomes forlorn, stares at the mother fucking sea and it drives Ramsay up the damn wall.

So, here Ramsay is. Back at his father’s house. But, he’s not here for his father; not today.

He walks through the large front hall, listening to the heels of his shoes echoing off the stone loudly. The house is quiet otherwise, always like a tomb. The place looks much the same. Nothing ever seems to change, nothing but the seasons.

The trees turn colors and the flowers die or bloom into stunning life. Ramsay doesn’t mind nature; he doesn’t have to maintain it the way he has to maintain himself around other people. His mind is always filled with blood and visions of violence. Being by people only makes it worse, considering he could have someone speaking to him and then suddenly he begins wondering what they would sound like with their eyes pulled out.

_Stop. Focus. You’re here for a reason._

Ramsay goes to the large doors that lead outside to the back. He finds her, lounging on the veranda in the sun, fanning herself lazily. “Mother,” he says brightly, forcing a smile on his face.

That act is always painful. Like sewing on a fake expression.

Walda nearly jumps out of her skin, an involuntary reaction of fear that Ramsay smiles at genuinely. She presses a hand to her chest and exhales with a nervous smile. “Ramsay! I didn’t know you were coming home today.”

“Hm. Mind if I sit?” Before she can respond, he throws himself down on the extravagant outdoor couch across from her. “Thanks.”

She’s staring at him with wide eyes, unsure of his intentions no doubt. After a moment, she goes back to fanning herself, a little faster now. Ramsay stretches his arms along the back of the couch, leaning back with spread legs, staring at her blankly. They remain that way, in silence until finally Walda can’t take the awkwardness anymore.

“Your father is out, if you’re looking for him.”

Ramsay remains grinning; she loathes being in his presence. He disquiets her. “I came to visit you, actually.”

She pales slightly, her fan stopping for a moment. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Her pupils are constricted, her smile obviously strained. Fear is blatant in the quick flutter of her heart in her jugular.

The longer he lets her question sit, the more anxious she visibly becomes. Ramsay drinks it in, enjoys the control, enjoys her fear of him. Though, he supposes he can’t rattle her too much or his father will hear of it. “You’re an unofficial lady-friend of Theon’s, aren’t you?”

Her small mouth twists. “You are well aware of how fond I am of him.”

Ramsay gestures to one of the servants lurking inside to bring him a water. “Tomorrow is…the anniversary of our moving in together. Which I suppose is our…one year anniversary of being an official couple or something equally mundane.”

Sipping her own sparkling water, Walda lifts her glass briefly. “Cheers. Though I don’t know what he sees in you, _dear son_.”

Ramsay rolls his eyes. “How sweet of you. Seeing as you are such a fan of his, I figured I’d ask what you think I should do for him tomorrow night. He gets back from tour tomorrow morning.”

Giving him a surprised glance, Walda places her sunglasses on, covering her eyes. Smart girl, doesn’t want to be read. “That’s…rather thoughtful of you. To think of him like that. I’m sure whatever you do, he’ll be thrilled.”

With a scoff, Ramsay grits his teeth and tries to stay cordial. “I’m trying to ask you what you think he would like. You know I can’t be trusted with such things. They don’t…come naturally to me. He’s so high maintenance.”

“He’s not! Believe me. But I understand why you would think that, because I know you do need to make an effort to keep him happy; another thing that doesn’t come naturally to you,” Walda says lightly, hidden behind her big black sunglasses.

It’s true; perhaps if Ramsay were mentally wired like everyone else, it wouldn’t be hard for him to figure this out. As it stands, he has to observe what makes Theon happy and recall it, has to watch what other people do in order to consider what might be a good, normal gesture. It’s a struggle, but he does _try_.

He tries because he wants Theon. He wants him and if he intends to keep him, Ramsay is going to have to keep trying. Even if that sort of sucks and is sort of hard.

“You could take him to dinner. You know he loves food,” Walda offers blandly.

“I can take him to dinner any fucking day I want. Don’t be a dull cow,” Ramsay snaps.

She hides displeasure. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you then, because that’s usually what people do.”

Ramsay gives her his wasteland look, the expression that says nothing and yet says a thousand things at once. Usually, it shows just how morally vacant he is inside.

“How about something you’ve never done before? A surprise. A safe one, mind you,” Walda adds quickly. “Maybe you could open up a bit more with him while you’re at it. Give a little of yourself.”

What the hell is she on about? “I think I give him a lot, _mother_.”

Walda’s breath huffs out of her nose at this and she looks out into the distance. “Emotionally, I mean. You’re locked up tight, like your father. Theon likes when you let him in, sometimes. That makes him feel wanted, emotionally.” Walda looks at Ramsay again and says in a deceptively disgusted manner, “Despite you having very few normal emotions, anyway.”

“Did he tell you this?”

She takes a sip of her drink. “He tells me a lot of things.”

Theon flirts far too fucking much. “I’m sure he does,” Ramsay drawls.

Something they’ve never done before? Give a little more? Huh. Well, they haven’t done a lot of things that Ramsay would like to do, but…those probably don’t count. Too abnormal. Too dangerous. Too far for Theon.

But. There is something…

No.

Maybe? Possibly?

_No._

His thoughts are interrupted when one of the house servants joins them outside.

The man places a phone in Walda’s hand and she brings it to her ear. “Oh, hello,” she says cheerily.

Ramsay tries to keep a scowl off his face; the very sound of her happy voice grates on his nerves. Walda, in fact, simply annoys him by _existing_. No one has the right to be as pleasant as she. “Of course,” she is saying, “I’ll have that ready before you come home. Your son is here, by the way. Yes. Sitting in front of me.”

Ramsay stiffens; he hasn’t been on the best terms with his father since moving out. His father likes control and Ramsay can admire that, seeing as he likes having control as well. However, his father likes to control _him _and that is something that Ramsay has never enjoyed.

Walda holds the phone out to Ramsay and he takes it from her. He doesn’t miss the way she shrinks back from him, like he’s a disease.

“Father,” Ramsay says blankly into the mouthpiece.

“Ramsay,” that deep, calm voice replies. “Have you come home for a visit or…?”

It is left unsaid that his father is wondering if Ramsay is coming back home permanently, that his ‘foolhardy stunt with the Greyjoy boy’ has failed. This idea of failure sets Ramsay’s teeth on edge and he envisions eviscerating his father for putting that notion out there.

His fingers itch. He wants to curl them around a blade.

“I came for something in my old room,” Ramsay lies.

Walda covers a delicate snort with a coughing fit. Ramsay pins her with an icy glance and she busies herself with her fan once more, staring out at the trees. It’s almost fall, but not quite. The air is still warm enough to bear without a coat.

“Hm. Is that so? You’ll stay the night,” his father says blandly, booking no further room for argument. “We have things to discuss and I grow tired of you avoiding my presence.”

Lips going stiff, Ramsay says coldly, “I have plans tomorrow.”

A small sound, possibly a derisive laugh hidden in an exhale of breath. “Calm yourself. You’ll be home to see your Greyjoy tomorrow.”

Ramsay sneers, hates how transparent his wants have become to his father. “I am calm. I just don’t want to stay here tonight. The drive is long to the Riverlands.”

“Of course. You can leave in the morning tomorrow. Remember our…understanding.” His father’s tone goes low, softer. Dangerous. “You come when I call. Or have you forgotten your punishment so soon?”

A flicker of pain blossoms across Ramsay’s back. A memory. Distant, but not forgotten. “How could I forget?”

“Good. I’ll see you tonight.”

With fury, Ramsay clicks the off button on the phone and hands it back to Walda, seething. Her big sunglasses are turned towards him, so he knows she is observing him from behind them safely. He twists his face into an unconcerned mask, gives her a fake smile with death in his eyes. “I guess I’ll be staying here tonight.”

He vaguely wonders what it would be like to push her off the veranda. It’s a long way down. He wonders what her screams would sound like. Would her head exploded upon impact or would she be cushioned by all that fucking blubber?

Walda shifts uncomfortably. Having Ramsay under her roof again is clearly not high on her priority list. “Well. Your room is untouched. Your father always wants it ready for when you return.”

Standing up sharply, Ramsay tries to keep the ugly off his face. He leans closer to her, saying, “I’m never coming back.”

He’s never leaving Theon. Theon is never leaving him. It isn’t allowed. Theon is his belonging and he’s worked tirelessly to keep him that way.

In a surprise show of bravery, Walda slides her glasses down her nose a bit so that she can peek over the top at Ramsay, her eyes clear. “Music to my ears,” she says with that false cheer, idly chomping down on a bit of bruschetta.

_Well, fuck you too, bitch, _Ramsay thinks as he walks back into his former home.

* * *

* * *

The day passes slowly as Ramsay waits around the Dreadfort, wondering why his father has made this ill-favored demand of him. They have an understanding. They have since Ramsay left.

_“You’re allowed to leave because I’m allowing it; don’t forget that.”_

_“As if you could keep me here,” Ramsay hisses._

_His father gives him a stern look, cold and calculating. “I could. You have a weakness now.”_

_The very idea of it is repulsive. “He’s not a weakness. I have no weaknesses. _I don’t have a conscience_.” _

_Roose circles him, pale eyes mirroring Ramsay’s. “You do. Just as I do. Though, unlike normal people, we do not care for our conscience. We can push it aside, because we see it as an unnecessary part of ourselves, one that prevents us from getting what we want.”_

_It’s the first time that Roose has ever compared himself to Ramsay and for a moment, Ramsay is stunned. His father has always treated him as if he is an uncontrollable monster. Perhaps it’s manipulation, but perhaps there is truth there; certain traits are genetic, after all. _

_Even dangerous traits._

_Ramsay blinks it away, tries to not feel swayed by the small sliver of kinship that his father has displayed. It’s manipulation even if it is a fact. He recognizes it; it’s something he would have done in his father’s place. “Regardless, he is mine and I won’t allow you to threaten him. You know what I would do, if you used him against me.”_

_Roose gives him that stiff, skeletal smile. The grin of death. “You would get over it, eventually. The Greyjoy boy is an object to you. And if he isn’t…well, then you truly have put an easy target on your back. I do hope you haven’t exposed yourself in such a manner.”_

_Irritated, nearly irrational with a strange sort of panic in his chest, Ramsay snaps, “I’m leaving. I’ve already bought the place. It’s mine and he’s going to stay mine.”_

_The older man breathes out a short laugh, barely one at all. “A cage for your toy. Go on then. Play house while it entertains you. I’ll still be here when it’s over.”_

_The insinuation is annoying. The insinuation that Ramsay won’t be able to hang on to Theon, won’t be able to maintain some semblance of normalcy. His face tightens and he turns his back on his father, striding towards the front door._

_Roose calls after him. “Remember. You come when I call. I know where you bought your new home. I know where you keep your favorite toy.”_

_Cold fury slides down Ramsay back and he slams the front door behind him. _

_He leaves the Dreadfort as quick as he can before he murders his father. Despite his fury over it, Ramsay always comes when his father demands. His father always has a job for him._

_He’ll never admit that half of the reason he goes so easily is because he fears what will happen to Theon if he doesn’t._

_The other half of him thrives on the relentless slaughter his father always provides for him, allowing him to contain much of his…true nature away from Theon at home. Theon, after all, shies away from Ramsay’s immorality, feels like it’s a reflection of himself. _

_Theon likes to pretend he’s blameless. And, he is. Nothing can change who Ramsay is…not even Theon…and Theon knows it._

_Wolkan had called Ramsay, the day after he moved out of the Dreadfort officially. “You’re really doing this, then?” Wolkan had said, concern in his voice. “This is a terrible, terrible idea, Ramsay. Don’t kill him. On accident or otherwise.”_

* * *

* * *

Dinner with his father and Walda is a tedious affair. Roose spends much of his time making snide comments and Walda, big mouthed Walda has to go and blab about how sweet it is that Ramsay is actually celebrating an anniversary tomorrow.

_Ugh._

His father gives him a fake smile. “Well, what a milestone. My heartfelt congratulations.”

Ramsay wants to shove his fork through the smile, but he grits his teeth and bites his steak instead, fist crushing the utensil in his grasp with restraint.

They only end up talking business later, after Walda has retired for the night.

That night, he sleeps in his old room. It’s strange sleeping alone, not that Ramsay really minds it. It’s more so the idea that Theon is out there somewhere, on tour, doing who knows what. With that stupid grin that makes him seem far more receptive to attention than he should be. With that blasted Stark. With a bunch of groupies. Ramsay would much rather have Theon in sight and in his control.

He grits his teeth just thinking about it.

It’s maddening. The longer Theon is gone, the more unhinged Ramsay feels. It’s hard for him to keep to his routines, hard for him to focus on daily tasks. He cannot get over the fact that Theon is out of his control, this loss of control drives him to insanity some days.

He doesn’t like to think of himself as weak. But he feels ill, sick. Out of balance. Some days he indulges in Xanax, because Wolkan figures it can help calm his irrationality. Other days, he takes on special cases for his father and tortures some fucking meatbag of a human for hours until he feels normal again.

Then, of course Theon will come home again and Ramsay can place everything back in _order_.

In twelve hours, Theon will be home again. Or should be, somewhere around that timeframe. Ramsay sighs, lying on his old king bed. Remembers the times Theon had been here with him. The first time. The internet radio flips to the next song and Ramsay’s heart tightens as Theon’s voice seeps through the speakers unexpectedly.

_“…You live outside my nightmares, your claws sunk so deep_

_I feel you even when you’re not here_

_And I’m a shadow of myself_

_You’re the phantom in the darkest pits of my mind_

_And you’ll never let me go_

_Phantom, you’ll haunt me ‘til day I die…”_

Ah, shit. The sound of his voice twists something in Ramsay’s black heart. He can almost envision the way Theon looks when he cums.

So, maybe Ramsay fucking misses that insolent little shit after all. Maybe it isn’t all about control. So what? He misses him so much that he wants to sink his teeth in his throat until he can taste Theon’s blood on his tongue, wants to dig his nails into his flesh so he’ll bear Ramsay’s marks for days.

He wants to destroy him, crush him, tear him apart, then lick his wounds and piece him back together, lock him in their home so that he can never walk out again.

But. Theon wouldn’t be happy with that. He loves to sing. He loves to go on tour, to escape Ramsay for a breather no doubt. Probably finds Ramsay suffocating. Which…he is. That’s acknowledged. Ramsay is _aware_, after all.

_He can sing to me and me alone, that should be enough, _Ramsay thinks darkly.

The song still plays, desperation and misery at the heart of it.

Distantly, he recognizes that his urge to own Theon is extreme. Theon would not like being chained up in their home, never allowed to leave. But deep down, that’s what Ramsay would like to do. Not that he ever has to tell Theon, Theon would just be terrified and run away no doubt, with his fucking flair for being dramatic.

Ramsay can fantasize about it though, there’s no harm in _fantasizing_. Wolkan told him he can do that, as long as he never acts on his more twisted fantasies.

So, he does, sliding his hand into his pants as he lies on his bed, grips his length with a hiss and thinks about Theon truly being his slave in every way shape and form. Chained and collared to their bed, forced to service Ramsay’s cock day and night. Nothing more than a piece of fuckmeat, begging to be destroyed. The more dark and depraved his thoughts become, the harder Ramsay gets, his cock slick.

His balls are so tight, aching, wanting to blow a load in his slave’s slutty fucking hole.

When he spills all over his hand, he doesn’t even feel an ounce of guilt for his sick thoughts.

* * *

* * *

The next morning, he leaves after breakfast, barely surviving listening to Walda prattle on to his father about the lovely weather. He zones out on the drive home, his mind becoming single focused, like tunnel vision.

He feels a bit off. Angry, even. His hands have the shakes and at one point he has to pull over to set his mind straight, taking in deep breaths, panting like he’s been running for miles. Blood splatters in his mind and every time he passes a car, he wonders about ramming someone off the side of the road.

Gore flashes into his mind and he tries to keep his thoughts clear. He can almost taste copper in his mouth, his random visions of violence so intense.

Within moments of pulling into the driveway, he rushes into the house, mind stuck in a single focused loop. He’s tired of waiting. He’s been waiting for weeks for Theon to come back home and now that he’s finally in reach, Ramsay nearly wants to strangle him.

On and off for days his mind has been either occupied with Theon or death and it’s borderline obsessive, manic.

He’ll never tell Theon about how much his time away affects him. He doesn’t need to acknowledge how much space Theon takes up in his mind. If Theon thinks he has some sort of idea, he doesn’t, not even an ounce. Ramsay prefers Theon thinks that Ramsay doesn’t care all that much.

He prefers that Theon doesn’t know how hard it is for him to let Theon walk out the door for tours. How every step Theon takes is a physical pain in his chest, a rope around Ramsay’s neck. His need for control is suffocating him, probably as much as it suffocates Theon.

Upon entering the house, Ramsay can smell Theon’s cologne in the air, a slight whiff of it. Stale. Evanescent. His shoulders sag with relief and he walks to their room to see where he is. Room after room he passes, yet he doesn’t find him.

After a few moments of not finding Theon, a strange flutter of anxiety begins to rampage in Ramsay’s chest uncomfortably. _Where is he? He’s home, he’s supposed to be home. Am I losing my mind? Did I imagine it?_

For a brief second, he vaguely wonders if he’s forgotten any of his pills, if he’s having an episode. Ramsay storms into their bathroom and looks in his side of the double wide vanity, hearing his pills clanging about in their bottles. He stares down at them, going blank of everything.

_I didn’t take anything last night. I didn’t bring anything to Father’s. I didn’t expect to not come home._

_Maybe I missed more than that. I can’t recall. I’m losing time. _

His mind flutters off track again. Back to Theon, like a slingshot. His thoughts turn red. _Where the fuck is he? Does he think this is funny? I’ll show him funny. I’ll knock his fucking teeth out._

Without another thought, Ramsay leaves the bathroom, his pills untouched.

Ramsay stands over their bed, glowering down at the sheets, thinking horrible things. He lifts his eyes and gazes out the window, a sneer shaping his lips.

He sees him then. Theon, standing waist deep in the ocean, the waves lapping at his skin. Multiple thoughts cross his mind immediately. One, Theon is home and alive, which is good. Two, Theon always dreams of drowning and Ramsay loves the idea of drowning him, but Theon drowning _himself_ is a prospect that drives Ramsay to a blind sort of terror.

_Mine mine mine, you’re mine, you don’t have the right to leave me behind_

This spike of emotion spurs him to race out the front door, cruising around the building at speed before he tells himself that he’s being ridiculous, he shouldn’t show such blatant weakness in front of his submissive. He slows his pace before he comes into view of the beach, the sand white and smooth, an endless span.

The waves are not large, but they make noise every time they crash onto shore. Theon loves the sea, being an islander. His heart is in the ocean, this Ramsay knows. Oftentimes, Theon crawls into bed at night smelling of sea salt and night air and it reminds Ramsay how easily he can lose Theon at any moment.

The idea of it is enough to drive Ramsay to sheer madness, irrational fury that tears at his insides. Being with Theon is slightly masochistic and Ramsay has never thought of himself in that manner. Theon’s an uncontrollable force, one that kneels at Ramsay’s feet because Theon _wants_ to, not because Ramsay has forced him. He’s long since come to this realization and hasn’t quite decided how that makes him feel.

Coherent feelings are not Ramsay’s strong point.

He slips off his shoes as he walks into the sand, approaching the water, approaching Theon from behind. As usual, the fool is unaware of what is coming towards him. It would be so easy to snap his neck from behind, leave a broken body for the sea to carry away.

But he won’t do such a thing.

Ramsay stands there, a few feet behind Theon silently, watching him blankly. He wonders how long it will take Theon to realize who is behind him. Theon’s shirt and jeans are folded on the ground beside Ramsay.

He stares at Theon’s back and wonders what is going on in Theon’s head. He wonders this, sometimes, when he’s trying to understand and sympathize like a human would. He wonders who Theon is thinking about. Worries that he’s thinking of someone else. Of leaving Ramsay.

The longer Ramsay stares at Theon’s naked back, the redder his vision becomes, just thinking of the possibilities. There are scars lining Theon’s back and Ramsay wants to dig his fingernails into them, to tear them open again.

_Stop. Stop thinking like this. You’re supposed to be happy that he’s back, not practically planning his murder. What the fuck is wrong with you? Stop staring at him like some sort of stalker. _

Ramsay coughs into his fist on purpose. Theon whirls around, sea-green eyes shocked and wide. “Holy shit, man. You scared the crap out of me,” Theon gasps.

Shifting on his feet, Ramsay forces a smile on his face. Hopes Theon doesn’t see that it’s forced, that something is wrong. “Oops.”

Theon smiles widely and tilts his head to the side. “Just how long have you been standing there watching me?”

“Oh, not long.”

“Want to join me?” Theon splashes some water at Ramsay, but it falls just short.

Ramsay stares down at him. “No. I don’t.”

Theon rolls his eyes and then lazily floats on his back as waves lap at his skin. He grins winningly, saying with sarcasm, “Suit yourself, asshole.”

The insolent cunt, grinning up at him like he hasn’t been absent for the past three weeks. Ramsay internally seethes, furious and wanting, unable to separate and control his wild feelings. It’s always a struggle, containing himself and his immediate, violent urges.

The ‘work’ his father provides helps as a wonderful outlet, but sometimes Ramsay looks at what is his and wants to destroy him _just because he_ _can_.

He stares down at Theon as the younger man floats around in the sea, playful and without a care. Relaxed after being on tour for weeks. Ramsay’s eyes scour Theon’s body, looking for marks, proof that Theon allowed someone else to touch him. Jealousy and possessiveness are Ramsay’s constant companions, especially when Theon leaves.

“Get out of the water. Come back to the house.”

Theon gives him a shit eating grin, sucking in water just to spit it out like a fish in a cartoon. “Yeah. I’ll be up soon. Been away from sea for too long. Missed floating around.”

Something nasty claws at Ramsay’s throat at those words. He’s been away from the sea too long? What about he’s been away from home too fucking long?

Ah. So, Theon’s been gone too long and forgotten how things work around here. With a dark sneer, Ramsay walks into the water and grabs Theon. He shoves him under water, holding him down until he begins to struggle. When Ramsay lets him up for air, he stares down at his sputtering submissive coldly. “I wasn’t asking. Do not make me repeat myself.”

A heated look comes to Theon gaze, water dripping down his face from his wet hair. His eyes shine green, reflecting from the water. He’s angry, irritated. That’s fine. Ramsay doesn’t care as long as Theon _listens._

Ramsay can fix this. They just have lost their routine. Things will go back to normal. Soon. Theon. Just. Needs. To. Come. Inside. The. House.

He lets go of the younger man and walks out of the water, bending down to grab his shoes on the sand, preparing to go back to the house. Theon calls after him.

“Ramsay.”

He stiffens and only turns his head slightly to look back over his shoulder. Theon is looking at him, water dripping down his chest. His nipples are hard and he looks cold, the expression on his face shuttered. There are small, white marks on his skin, reminders of where Ramsay has been.

Where his knife has been.

Theon must see something flicker in his gaze, because his jaw tightens subtly. Theon says four little words.

“Please take your pills.”

Ah. The expression is fear then. Ramsay scoffs and starts walking back towards the house. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he rasps, feeling those eyes burning into his back.

Once he’s back in the house, alone, Ramsay leans his back against the door and stands for a moment. Cracks his neck idly. Briefly digs his fingertips into the wood behind him. Considers. Stares at the opposite wall with empty eyes and lets his gaze rest on the framed photos.

“Shit,” he mutters. “The cunt is right.”

He goes back upstairs and rifles through his pill bottles, popping a few before going to lay down on their bed. Ramsay covers his eyes and waits for the calm to flood his veins.

Sometime later, a gentle hand on his forehead alerts him to the fact that Theon is standing over him, hair wet, eyes wary and clear. The hand on his skin is chilled, from the ocean, and Theon runs it through Ramsay’s black hair.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” Theon says knowingly, but not too knowingly; he’s not stupid.

Theon leans down, brushes his nose over Ramsay’s cheekbone, lips ghosting over Ramsay’s skin. Wordlessly, Ramsay wraps his arms around Theon’s shoulders and hugs him. He doesn’t say he’s sorry aloud, can’t quite get the words out.

When Theon kisses him, the world disappears.  


* * *

By one in the afternoon, Theon is in the shower washing away the sea salt in his hair, singing. Always fucking singing and Ramsay will never admit that he sort of likes it. His voice echoes off the fine stone walls in their bathroom, tastefully and elegantly done. Well, Theon thinks it’s overdone, but Theon has never quite lived in the lap of luxury. Ramsay is more than happy to provide it for him, despite Theon always cringing about blood money.

Theon had napped with him for a bit, earlier. It had been strangely comforting, just having Theon lying next to him on the bed. Ramsay felt a little stupid; he’d clearly almost lost control and Theon had known.

_The little shit knows me too well._  


* * *

“So. What are we doing tonight? Want to go out?” Theon asks loudly, examining his shirts in the deep walk-in closet.

Ramsay makes a non-committal noise. Second guesses himself; what if Theon really wanted to go to dinner for their anniversary? Not that he’s mentioned anything about it actually being their anniversary. Perhaps the cocksucker isn’t even aware. Typical. “I was thinking of…staying in actually.”

“Really? That’s not you. You were completely wired earlier. Figured you’d want to hit the _Dreadfort Nightclub_ and do something truly degraded.”

Theon walks out of the closet, the collar glittering on his throat. Bolton, it reads. Ramsay stares at it for a moment, letting his eyes drift up and down Theon’s form slowly. Briefly thinks about how he likes to fuck him from behind, using the collar for leverage. When he meets Theon’s gaze again, he smirks darkly. “Whoever said what I have in mind isn’t degraded?”

“Care to share or am I going into this blind?” Theon asks, skeptical. “Fucking hell, who knows what filthy shit you’ve been thinking up these past few weeks.”

“Come closer, maybe I’ll tell you,” Ramsay says with a shark grin, all teeth.

Theon scowls, eyes narrowing. Ramsay can almost see Theon mentally cursing him out, athletic frame tense. The younger man comes over to stand over Ramsay, boxing him in with his arms. Theon hisses softly, “Do your worst,_ Sir_.”

Ramsay leans forward and runs his tongue over Theon’s ear, loving the way he shivers. Then, he leans forward and whispers in Theon’s ear, telling him all the horrible things he has in store for them. Theon absorbs the words, no doubt confused at first based on the expression on his face. Then, his eyes widen, suddenly looking at Ramsay with an open gaze. Ramsay can clearly see that Theon’s scared and aroused. Theon sounds stricken when he says, “I don’t know what to say. This…are you sure? I mean…we’ve never…”

“Do I say shit I don’t mean often?” Ramsay asks airily, danger threading his tone. “Is that something you think I do?”

Those beautiful eyes are scanning Ramsay’s face. Theon steps back from him and plops down onto their bed beside Ramsay. “We can’t rush it.”

Hungry for blood and filled with growing lust, Ramsay grabs Theon by the nape of his neck and bares his teeth in a predatory grin. “I have no intention of rushing anything tonight. We’ll go till dawn if I want. And you’ll just take everything I give you, like the filthy, greedy whore you are.”

Theon flushes with a mix of angry humiliation, Ramsay’s favorite expression on Theon’s face. It arouses him to no end, seeing Theon fight what he wants, what he likes. Ramsay never thought he would ever come across someone who loves humiliation and degradation as much as Theon.

Theon is _made _for it and it makes Ramsay endlessly horny. In the absence of his typical sadistic tendencies, the degradation makes for an excellent buffer. It satisfies Ramsay when Theon is too burnt out from Ramsay’s other aggressions.

Yet another thing that Ramsay has learned over time, studying his submissive; the point when his sadism wears Theon down too far. It’s those times that Ramsay knows he needs more work from his father to offload some of the burden from Theon. Above all things, he must keep Theon happy with their home life or Theon might consider leaving and that is not…advisable.

Not when it comes to Ramsay’s mental state. The very thought of Theon ending their ‘relationship’ is enough to send Ramsay into a manic episode, even on a good day. He realizes that what he feels is all-consuming and unhealthy, but he keeps himself in check the best he can. Wolkan taught him well. Taught him to be aware of what is acceptable and what isn’t.

Regardless of that, he still wants things that are not…typically acceptable.

_“I want to,” Ramsay says, forcing Theon to his knees. “In your mouth.”_

_His submissive splutters in a distinctly non-submissive manner. “Look at my face,” Theon says with a dark, disagreeable look. “Do I look like I’ll put up with such a thing?”_

_“You do when I do it on you in the shower,” Ramsay offers, knowing that Theon’s face has literally no interest in it at all. He likes to get a rise out of him, threatening him with the idea that Ramsay might force it on him._

_Theon likes being forced._

_Like the first time Ramsay actually pissed on him. They’d been in the shower, Theon hogging all of the water spray per the usual. Ramsay had been eyeing him from behind, watching the hollow of Theon’s back, the arch of his perfect neck. That ugly, nasty feeling rose in him, wanting to destroy and harm._

_Theon is too perfect, too fucking beautiful and Ramsay wants to scar him from the inside out. _

_The monster inside of Ramsay called for his pound of flesh. He’d stepped forward and pressed the tip of his cock between the lovely globes of Theon’s ass, and let go. The shower would wash it away, no harm, no foul. _

_But Theon would still know what had been done to him and that’s all that really mattered._

_Theon stiffened and Ramsay watched as that glorious dick of Theon’s filled with blood immediately. The monster inside of Ramsay swelled with lust and pride, happy that his submissive had been aroused by being marked, being claimed so basely by him._

Or the other time.

_“Not on our bed, you fucking dog,” Theon hollers, self-righteous fury in place, hand grabbing Ramsay’s dick in vise-like grasp._

_Ramsay smirks and gets off of Theon, backhanding him for good measure before walking to the bathroom, leaving him unscathed. He thinks about it though, as he stands in front of the toilet, pissing loudly into the bowl. He’s done it to other people before, clients, in the past. Before Theon. He never quite cared for it, just another method of debasing someone._

_With Theon though, it’s different. Theon belongs to him and the idea of marking him in his fluids is endlessly arousing. He marks Theon in cum all the time, hell, he even allows Theon to mark him with cum. How is this any different? They are both primal and bring heat to Ramsay’s belly in equal measure._

_When he comes back to bed, Theon is hard and shamefaced, having listened to him through the open bathroom door. Ramsay crawls onto him and bites his neck, groping at Theon’s fat cock. “What’s this?” Ramsay teases cruelly, “Did you change your mind? I would have given it to you. Then, I would have fucked you face-down into the sheets like the dog I am.”_

_Theon wraps a hand in Ramsay hair and growls, vicious. “You are such a disgusting asshole.”_

_Ramsay beams with a slight hint of crazy._

_Then he wraps his hands around Theon’s neck and things go from there._

They’ve developed in their relationship over the past year. Even Wolkan is impressed by how steady they’ve been when he calls to check in on them. They have a balance to them, a push and pull that Ramsay enjoys. Even when he sometimes loses control. He tries not to. Theon is more aware of Ramsay’s struggles as well, he’s not completely ignorant.

He likes Theon’s fire, doesn’t want it to totally be extinguished. He enjoys when Theon submits by choice, even when it clearly kills Theon’s pride to do so. Having such a proud man bend for him is euphoric.

Over the spread of time, Ramsay attachment has only grown more intense, to his embarrassment.

_“Am I supposed to feel this way?” He asked Wolkan once, concerned. _

_The intensity of his emotions sometimes became too much to control. Sometimes, when Theon was gone, the very absence of him made Ramsay feel hysterical. Completely unbalanced and sick to his stomach. Thrown off balance. Dangerous with little purpose and a devastating tunnel vision._

_“You miss him,” Wolkan had stated calmly. “This is not unnatural. But your fear of losing control of him while he is gone is scaring you. Obsessively so. This is…unhealthy, some might say.”_

_Vaguely disgusted with himself, Ramsay snorted derisively. “Are you saying I’m pining after him like some romantic bitch with feelings?” _

_“Ramsay,” Wolkan said with that long-suffering way of his, “You feel this way because you have romantic feelings and you don’t know how to cope with them.”_

_Disgusted, Ramsay snapped, “Who made you a doctor anyway?” Then he hung up the phone, breathing heavily, disturbed. _

He still has sessions with Wolkan. Just to make sure nothing…bad happens.

Ramsay blinks the memories away and notices that Theon is staring at him. His gorgeous, terrible, won’t-listen-for-shit submissive is looking at him with wide eyes still, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “Why now?” Theon asks softly. “Why after all this time?”

Fast as a viper, Ramsay pins him down on the bed and yanks on his hair. Theon winces in pain and Ramsay grins widely. “Tonight is a special night, isn’t it? Do you even know what today is?”

The look in Theon’s eyes is almost undecipherable. Broken, lost, tragic. “Of course, I do.”

It’s there in that gaze; he never imagined that Ramsay would even know or pay attention to their anniversary. Ramsay leans down and inhales besides Theon’s neck, pausing to press his teeth warningly against his jugular. “Good boy.”

“You won’t like it. We shouldn’t. Please change your mind.” Begging. Theon is good at begging when he puts his mind to it.

Ramsay chuckles, doesn’t answer.

“Can I say no?”

Pulling back with flashing pale eyes, Ramsay says brightly, “What do you think?”

Theon curses under his breath.

*******

There’s something about it. The way Theon shakes with nerves whenever he touches Ramsay, the way he gives himself up like a martyr. It’s pure tragedy, the way Theon throws himself away, so willing to leap off whatever edge he can find.

Ramsay has never found something more endearing. It’s one of the reasons why he will never give Theon up.

He’s thought of this on and off. Tonight is going to be the night. He wants all of Theon.

And he means _all of him_.


	2. Phantom Pt. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters or Game of Thrones. Those belong to George R.R. Martin.
> 
> **AN:** Warning, this chapter is like 98% filth. Be happy, hoes :D

In retrospect, he never planned for any of this. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Theon Greyjoy and Ramsay Bolton were never supposed to be.

Yet, here they are, living in this fucking house like a married couple. How goddamn vanilla. If someone had told Ramsay years ago that he would end up playing house with another man, he would have laughed.

Laughed and probably slit their throat. Then he would have laughed some more.

The whole situation is made worse by the fact that he’s never wanted anyone the way he wants Theon. Especially not the way it has evolved, this disastrous desire that consumes him. Unacceptable.

It’s always been a bit of a shock, when he finds himself wondering about it. Considering, out of a strange form of curiosity, pondering something he’s never wanted in his entire life. Ramsay finds himself fantasizing more and more about having Theon take him. He finds himself thinking about taking the ultimate power trip and forcing Theon to be inside him the way he knows Theon _wants_ to be.

Theon always had been a bit of a whore, trying to fill the empty holes of nothingness in his chest. It had been painfully obvious to Ramsay that Theon was the kind of person who didn’t love himself, didn’t like being with himself, but wanted everyone else to see the mask of a person who had it all.

The underneath is what makes Ramsay’s mouth water; that aching self-loathing that coats Theon like a fine silk.

His boy- _how fucking long has he been thinking of him like that? -_just gives and gives and Ramsay is willing to consume him completely. No one gives anything, not in this world and certainly not for free. Everyone just takes and takes from Ramsay, but not Theon. The fact that Theon gives is what makes Ramsay want to give just as much as he takes.

It’s hard, reconciliating the fact that Theon is a human and Ramsay needs to maintain him carefully. He’s made mistakes in this regard before in terms of Theon. He doesn’t make many mistakes anymore. Maintenance is annoying, but necessary.

This night, they end up going out to dinner after all, realizing they need food despite Ramsay wanting to stay in.

Ramsay takes Theon out somewhere nice. The kind of place where you wear a suit coat and nice shoes. Theon loves food and nearly orgasms every time he eats somewhere with above average fare.

Ramsay could care less about the place or the cost. Could care less about the food. He can barely keep his mind straight as he watches Theon gulp down his water, the way his throat works as he swallows. His groins aches at the sight, thinking of the way Theon chokes on his cock when he’s shoved it down his throat.

When the waiter comes to take their order, Theon opens his mouth to speak, but Ramsay interrupts him, placing the order for them both. It’s a rush of inspiration; he knows Theon won’t like the blatant display of power in public.

Theon’s head cranes towards his slowly, anger in those greenish ocean eyes, humiliation coloring his cheekbones slightly. The waiter knows who pays the check here and doesn’t dare question Ramsay taking over. Then man inclines his head and pours Theon some water from a bottle, all while Theon fumes.

As soon as the man is gone, he glares at Ramsay. “Am I a child?”

“I don’t know,” Ramsay replies sarcastically, drinking in Theon’s displeasure. “Are you?”

Electricity is burning in Theon’s eyes and Ramsay basks in it. Regardless of Theon’s distaste for public displays of dominancy outside of the club and the privacy of their home, he stays. Under it all, Theon thrives on shame and Ramsay thrives on Theon’s pent up anger that always simmers just below the surface.

Always there, but rarely seen in full. Theon holds back, because he knows what angering Ramsay means for him. Theon has his own monsters; Ramsay is just one of them. Theon _chose_ him, after all.

Theon is also _aware_. He knows where Ramsay’s limits are. He knows how to toe the line, just so he can taste danger without actually getting himself in dire straits. After all this time, Theon can even see when Ramsay is slipping, can almost sense when a pill has been missed.

A crucial skill, for a man that was once so hellbent on meeting death.

Or rather, for a man who still is, because Theon dreams of drowning and that will never change.

“You never told me about your tour,” Ramsay asks with an ersatz grin, watching discomfort tighten the skin around Theon’s eyes subtly.

Poking at the lobster bisque in front of him, Theon lifts his eyes to Ramsay’s briefly. “I didn’t? Must have slipped my mind. Sorry.”

The smile on Ramsay’s lips almost cracks. _He’s not sorry and it didn’t slip his mind when he was in the ocean, wallowing in his fantasies of drowning. Of leaving me. _“Meet anyone special?” He says it lightly, a wolf hiding amongst the sheep.

Theon doesn’t blink, though the corner of his mouth twitches subtly. So subtle that Ramsay almost doesn’t notice. Almost, but not quite. He recognizes the carefully controlled reaction. Months ago, Theon would have lost his temper and snarled outright, hissing, “_What sort of idiot do you think I am, asshole?!_”

Now, Theon gives him this level stare, anger probably bursting at the seams in his chest. Ramsay nearly beams with glee; he loves a reaction. He likes watching Theon struggle with himself, the way he tries to keep himself contained. Theon artfully takes another gulp from his water glass, eyes flickering off to the distance briefly as he ponders his move.

Ramsay waits.

“What answer do you want to hear?” Theon replies finally, eyes shadowed now.

That should be obvious, shouldn’t it? Something sick coils in Ramsay’s belly and he hides his reaction to the deft maneuver. These aren’t the words Ramsay wants to hear after Theon’s been gone for so long. Part of him is ready to lose his head over it, but fortunately the medication from earlier has helped take the edge off his mood. In his head, Ramsay briefly sees a scene play out, the room suddenly in a strange shade of red in his vision. He’d stand up and grab Theon by the collar of his shirt, drag him over the damn table, hold a knife to his throat and snarl, _so who was it? who? you’d better not be fucking around behind my back, you stupid cunt._

and everything is red, painted fucking red.

Forcing a grin onto his face a little longer, no matter how stilted and fake, Ramsay sighs lightly and says with false sweetness, “The truth is always nice.”

That’s a lie of course. The truth is _never _nice and almost always hurts like a knife in the back.

Leaning back in his chair, Theon exhales hard and shakes his head is disbelief. He looks like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle. Even worse, it looks like there’s _disappointment_ in his gaze. “Why do you do this to yourself?”

Ramsay’s teeth grind together briefly. “Do what?”

Theon has posed a good question, actually. Was there a good reason to start a fight? No. Absolutely not. But Ramsay enjoys the antagonism even if it isn’t necessary. Even if it causes problems. He likes the bloody sensation of fury rising in his breast because it helps him feel something when sometimes he feels nothing at all.

Or feels things he’d rather not feel. Things he’d rather blot out and pretend don’t exist. Emotions he’d cut out with a blade if he could, piece by gory piece. Fuck, he should have ordered himself wine.

Because, Theon can’t drink and it would be lovely to punish him by making him _watch_.

Theon’s shoulders are tensed, like an animal preparing for flight. “Why are you winding yourself up? There’s no reason to. It’s like watching a freakish merry-go-round.”

“Watch your mouth,” Ramsay hisses under his breath, false smile long gone now.

“Sorry.” Theon doesn’t sound sorry enough. Or rather, he doesn’t sound sorry at all, frankly.

Theon hasn’t confirmed or denied anything, of course. He studiously sidestepped Ramsay’s question and now has let it sit, like a pile of shit in the middle of the table. Irritation is crawling under Ramsay’s skin like a bed of ants. He is spinning himself up, but he can’t seem to stop. He presses the needle forward even though he shouldn’t. He can almost envision Wolkan shaking his head at him, warning Ramsay that Ramsay’s about to go on a bender for absolutely no good social reason. “You were gone for a long time. How am I supposed to know what you get up to when you’re out with the band and _your groupies_?”

The little shit has this unimpressed look on his face. “Are you really so awful that it only takes a few weeks away for me to find someone else?”

The question falls dead and Ramsay tastes bile on his tongue. They both know the answer to that.

Fuck. Suddenly, Ramsay feels like he’s been hit by a train. He’s staring at the younger man across the table from him and is struck by how much he’s changed in a year. Theon wears sobriety well and not just that; he’s matured. Or perhaps he’s just learned how to deal with Ramsay so well that now he views Ramsay as the disobedient child, that it suddenly isn’t the other way around.

Insolent little cunt.

“Answer my question, Greyjoy,” Ramsay says quietly, dangerously.

Theon notices the switch to his surname and seems to go cold, like the ocean in a fall storm. “If you don’t already know the answer to this pointless witch hunt, maybe I should get up and fucking go, Ramsay. What the fuck.”

Feeling his face heat, Ramsay opens his mouth to retort, but the waiter comes and sets their food down in front of them. Theon doesn’t dig in, he simply waits, looking for a cue from Ramsay. He’s waiting to see if he’s allowed, he’s waiting to see how Ramsay reacts.

Rolling his eyes, half furious at himself, half outraged at Theon, Ramsay grabs his fork and knife and starts cutting his rare ribeye steak. He feels like a fool. “Stop with your fucking bitching,” Ramsay mutters to Theon, pushing the blame onto him. “Just eat and we can go home.”

Theon didn’t play the game the way Ramsay had wanted him to. He didn’t grovel and tell him there’d never be anyone else. He didn’t get nervous and continually assure him that he could be trusted. No, Theon sat there and refused to play and Ramsay feels cheated.

Mother fucking _cheated_.

The food tastes like ash in his mouth and this isn’t how this was supposed to go.

Theon eats what is put in front of him and thanks Ramsay politely for taking him out to dinner, making Ramsay feel even _worse_. The rude bitch had watched him spin himself up, just sat there and watched, letting him go round and round to his heart’s content.

The food doesn’t sit well in Ramsay’s stomach at the thought; perhaps Theon is bored with him. Perhaps Theon isn’t afraid anymore, perhaps the thrill is gone. Well. Ramsay can show him. It isn’t like Ramsay doesn’t know how to make someone lose their mind in sheer terror.

He’s done it to Theon before, he can do it again. Challenge accepted, cunt.

They go home in Ramsay’s car, zipping through the light night traffic to get back out to their home in the Riverlands, right on the sea.

They’re both quiet like a grave.

* * *

* * *

When they get home, Theon disappears and Ramsay finds himself battling with a bad taste in his mouth. Distantly, he recognizes that he’s the one who fucked up dinner, wanting to be combative. But, it isn’t his fault that Theon makes him feel this way.

It also isn’t Ramsay’s fault that his mind is all screwed up too.

Theon’s the one who left him here, all alone, for weeks. Left him wondering, listening to the sound of other people through the phone when Theon gave Ramsay his one phone call per day during their time apart. He’d always wanted to know who Theon was with, but had bitten his tongue about it, letting it fester and rot.

Letting his need to own and possess turn ugly and dark for weeks. His arousal and jealousy had turned into something hideous, something that probably deserved to be locked away. Or only set loose in an interrogation session with one of his father’s…assignments.

It always gnaws at Ramsay, knowing Theon has such a large life outside of him. Outside of them together. Outside of Ramsay’s ownership of him.

Hating how useless he feels, Ramsay storms over to his liquor cabinet and unlocks it. He’s the only one who has the key to it. He grabs a whiskey and drinks from the bottle, relishing the burn down his esophagus. He stands by the window and scowls out at the sea for some time, drinking. It levels him out a bit more, interacting with his medication.

The mess his mind is in goes steady, the millions of self-destructive, violent, paranoid thoughts slowing in their maddened pace. The images of blood, of meat, the rot of death fade into a background noise in his head.

Soon, he’s almost calm and wonders where Theon ran off to. Figures he probably should find him, because it _is their anniversary_. Perhaps he can still salvage some of it after he thoroughly blew a fucking hole in their night.

He goes to their dark bedroom and is hit with the scent of the sea, salty night air coming in like a wave from outside. The moonlight pours in through their massive windows, the windows that span their entire bedroom wall.

Their whole bedroom is essentially the ocean, the endless green-blue and the hint of islands in the horizon.

Theon is sitting shirtless on their king-size bed, his shirt twisted in his hands as he waits patiently. The moonlight plays on his sun-kissed skin, the white scars on his back vivid on his flesh. Ramsay leans against the doorframe while holding the bottle of whiskey, staring at Theon’s presented back, feeling warmth fill his groin at the sight of his ownership.

On Theon’s neck is his thick, leather collar.

If nothing else, Ramsay recognizes this as Theon’s way of apologizing for being an absolutely brat during dinner.

“You’re drinking,” Theon says into the dark room, voice vacant.

An accusation.

Taking a deep swig from the bottle, Ramsay gives a crooked smile at Theon’s back. “Ah. So observant. Good for you.”

Theon turns his head slightly to look at Ramsay over his naked shoulder. More a glare than anything, actually. His eyes are mostly hidden from sight in the otherwise dark room. “You know it’s torture for me to smell that on your breath.”

Joining him on the bed, Ramsay crowds up behind him, a predator observing prey with wasteland eyes. “I know,” Ramsay replies coldly.

He runs his teeth across Theon’s jugular, a dangerous caress. His hands find their way to the front of Theon’s jeans, palming his crotch. Ramsay’s mouth goes dry and he starts to say thickly, “I still want-”

Theon tenses and interrupts Ramsay. “Maybe…we should talk this through a little more.”

With a snarl, white teeth flashing in the moonlit room, Ramsay shoves Theon backwards, satisfied when he hears the slight thunk of Theon’s head against the headboard. “None of this, ‘maybe we should talk this through’ shit. _I’ve_ decided. This is what I want and I don’t change my fucking mind.”

Indignation is written on Theon’s face, a familiar expression. “And what about what I want?”

Ramsay’s voice drops low. “What have I told you about lying?” _this is what you want, _he thinks at Theon darkly,_ you silly cunt, you’ve wanted it all along._

He watches with interest as Theon’s adam’s apple bobs in his throat. Up and down. There’s a familiar gleam in those ocean eyes, the heady mix of terror and arousal that seems to plague Theon’s very existence.

Ramsay looks down at him and his eyes have already begun to change. The animal within is starting to peak out, monstrous and violent. A crime scene, playing out in a single glance. He wants to tear open Theon from the inside and dance in his guts almost as much as he wants to fuck him.

He’d rather die than admit it, but tonight is for Theon. This is a fucking gift and the idiot better take it while he can. Sure, Ramsay botched dinner up, but Ramsay isn’t about this shit, Theon can’t expect a fairytale romance.

Crawling on top of the younger man, Ramsay roughly undoes Theon’s belt, yanking it out of the loops hard. Wrapping the belt around Theon’s neck, clinking the buckle over the collar, Ramsay hisses, “You filthy fucking little girl. _Come on_.”

The stricken expression on Theon’s face doesn’t change. He splutters, even as the belt tightens on his throat menacingly. “What exactly do you want?!”

“You have a dick,” Ramsay rasps, grinding down on the growing hardness that he feels underneath him. “Figure it out, princess.”

Something flashes in Theon’s eyes, heated humiliation and angry arousal.

He pushes Ramsay onto his back and instantly Ramsay feels himself tensing. His natural reaction is to defend himself, but he reminds himself that he wants Theon to do this tonight. Theon tears at his clothes, stripping them away with furious, jerky motions. Eventually leaving them both wearing nothing.

Ramsay feels exposed, vulnerable. These are not emotions that he likes and they leave him feeling raw. He tries to sit up and get back to his knees, but Theon dives belly down onto the bed between Ramsay’s thighs.

This gives Ramsay pause and he stares with suspicious interest as Theon pants nervously on his thigh. He can feel the heat of Theon’s breath on his skin and his cock bounces with interest. “What are you doing,” Ramsay asks dryly, with as much disinterest as he can muster.

Because, he’s interested, but Theon doesn’t need to know. It would inflate his ego.

Theon lets out a shaky breath, bringing his face closer to Ramsay’s cock and balls. He uses his nose to nuzzle at them, inhaling in that animal way that has Ramsay’s groin heating even further. Instantly, he wants to debase him, mark him a little. Treat him like a damn fucktoy.

His hands shake at the voracity of his need and he sits up to violently flip Theon over. With a slight crack in his voice, Ramsay clambers over his submissive and humps against his face. It’s filthy, not even dignified, but he gets the image in his head that he’s covering Theon’s face in the scent of his cock and taint, covering him in Ramsay’s sex.

Making him nothing but a whore for his degraded needs. The more he thinks about it, Ramsay finds himself panting out in a higher tone, “Fu…fucking…look at you. Filthy bitch. Let me-”

He fists Theon’s hair in his hand and he rubs his balls over Theon’s mouth, eyes fluttering at the sensation of Theon’s chin scruff brushing against his sensitive skin. Ramsay feels a little out of control, the way he always does when he has Theon submitting to him.

It’s embarrassing, the way his cock drips with want. He loves debasing Theon; his submissive cannot get hard during Ramsay’s more sadistic endeavors, which is fine, but Theon’s fat cock is always full when Ramsay humiliates him, degrades him.

Depredation makes Ramsay hard enough to get the job done usually. They’ve only had trouble a few times in bed, times where Ramsay couldn’t get hard without something…extra.

With a sneer, he shoves his cock into Theon’s mouth and his submissive swallows him down without complaint. He spends a few moments groaning deliriously, fucking Theon’s throat while pulling his hair hard enough to bring tears to Theon’s eyes.

It’s good, but he doesn’t want to cum yet.

With a loud moan, Ramsay pulls his cock out of Theon’s mouth, only to have the younger man suckle at his testicles, playing with them in his hot mouth. Ramsay arches his back a bit, gasping embarrassingly. “You fucking slut,” he grits out.

He lets himself enjoy it for a few moments.

Then, Theon’s tongue delves further back, so far back that Ramsay finds himself hovering on his knees, gripping the headboard with one hand, mouth open. Theon moans loudly, like he’s eating something delicious, licking broad strokes across Ramsay’s quivering muscle.

Those surprisingly talented lips kiss and suckle at the virgin entrance, tongue laving it repeatedly. Ramsay curses, feeling his leg tremble. He allows himself a moment to dwell on how he hates coming undone like this.

Feeling angry and aroused, he twists the hand in Theon’s lovely locks of hair and grinds his ass down onto his face, forcing Theon’s tongue inside of his body. Riding on his mouth, Ramsay sneers cruelly, “Look at you now; what would your father say?”

At those words, fingers join Theon’s tongue, a shocking burn jolting Ramsay at the intrusion. Theon hisses with a thick voice, “Yeah? I know what _your_ father would say.”

“Shut. Up.”

Theon’s fingers scissor and stroke at Ramsay’s insides, a strange foreign feeling. He isn’t sure he likes it, but he doesn’t quite hate it. He’s more embarrassed by the fact that Theon is inside of him with some part of his body, penetrating him. It feels like a violation. Almost.

His submissive goes still, twirling his tongue delicately against Ramsay’s small ring of muscle. Theon uses his fingers to fuck him steadily, nice and slow, the burn eventually fading into nothing. Then, Theon starts talking. “I can almost picture his face, your dad. He’d stand there and look at you while you ride my tongue and fingers like a goddam whore, a whore who fucks because she needs it. He’d wonder aloud if there is any end to your perversions.” Theon’s lips curve into a smile against Ramsay’s humiliatingly eager ass. “To which, I would answer ‘no’.”

Turned on, absurdly so, Ramsay grinds his teeth together and grabs Theon by the nose, suffocating him briefly. “Stop talking about my father with your filthy mouth. You’re going to make me jealous.”

His muscles are going to jelly in his legs, his ass going loose and soft with every sloppy kiss and nip Theon places there. Ramsay nearly sees stars as Theon presses his fingers hard against a certain place inside of him, simultaneously adding a third finger, then a fourth.

_Shit, I’m going to be fucked, _Ramsay thinks deliriously, seeing red amongst the stars.

How the insolent cunt remains so cool and collected throughout all of this, Ramsay can’t understand. It infuriates him, this momentary loss of control, and Theon only spurs it on, rasping with a wrecked voice, “I’d tell him about the way you get hard at the sight of blood, or how you like the sounds of people screaming in pain. He’d tell me he’s always known that about you, that it’s not shocking. Like how you need to touch yourself like a teenage boy after torturing someone in his fucking basement, like the savage you fucking are.”

The image is so visceral that Ramsay nearly cums right there. His voice is shaking. “St…stop.”

Those four fingers fuck in and out with a steady pace and Ramsay doesn’t exactly enjoy it, but the burn gives him something to focus on. Those four fingers won’t be able to compare to Theon’s cock, after all. That big fucking fat piece of meat that just leaks and leaks whenever Ramsay fucks Theon from behind…

Then, suddenly, Theon pulls his fingers out and he places his hands on Ramsay’s hips, digging his fingernails in as he exerts his athletic strength to flip Ramsay over. Once more, in a vulnerable position against the headboard, with his knees up and his taint exposed, Ramsay finds himself panting furiously, torn between murder and so much hunger that he can’t contain himself, a wasteland of crimson lust and sick desire playing out in his head.

Theon crowds in between his thighs, crouched awkwardly as he stares into Ramsay’s flushed face. There’s anger in those sea green eyes, hidden, but not invisible. He’s mad about this night, he’s mad about how Ramsay acted at dinner, perhaps he’s angry about even earlier in the day. Whatever it might be, Theon’s irritation and disappointment is spurring his tongue to stupid heights.

And somehow, it’s even more arousing. _I fucking hate him, _Ramsay thinks as he sucks in air desperately. He positively _aches_. It’s been _weeks_.

Licking his lips, a nervous habit, Theon continues lowly, grasping Ramsay’s cock in one of his firm hands, callused from playing the guitar. His hoarse voice is like sin on Ramsay’s eardrums. “Or maybe I’d tell him about how you like to degrade me, on those mornings you follow me into the shower and mark me with piss, your cock so hard you can barely see straight until you’re fucking into me.” An unpleasant expression shapes his face then. “Or maybe I’d tell him about the times you can’t even get it up, because I’m too fucking vanilla for you to be turned on by.”

That’s a barb if Ramsay’s ever heard one. It nearly makes his erection deflate, angry that Theon would _dare_ bring it up. He can’t fucking help it that his brain is all twisted it up, that he can’t give Theon a normal sex life like someone else could. Baring his teeth in a rictus grin, Ramsay snaps, “Well, I’m fucking hard right now, aren’t I?”

That isn’t the point, of course, but he’s not letting Theon have the last word.

He doesn’t like how Theon seems to look victorious at that admission, like he’s won something. Then, he hides the expression and presses his cock against Ramsay’s, rubbing the thick meat against his aching flesh. Ramsay lets his head fall back against the headboard at the sensation, feeling that hot, heated cock against his.

Humping against it briefly, Ramsay feels himself spurt unexpectedly. Not a full orgasm, but a load of precum, just splattered obscenely against Theon’s lower stomach. His cock throbs, bobbing obscenely with need. Theon pauses and rubs his fingers through the mess on his skin, looking at Ramsay with that egotistical way of his. “You seem pretty wound up. Maybe a quick handy would help relieve some of your tension…”

The words drip with arrogance, the kind of thing that Theon would no doubt say when faced with a sure bet. A flash of irritation infuses Ramsay, angry that he’s let Theon get away with this heckling in bed for the last quarter hour.

Ramsay enjoys a fight, but he doesn’t like having his submissive play him like a violin. And, fuck, Theon plays him so well now.

“A_ handy_? I want to make you _pregnant_, you fucking mouthy bitch,” Ramsay snarls, manhandling Theon. “I’ll cream in that greedy cunt of yours.”

That shit eating grin appears, sloppy, like six glasses of red wine. “Yeah, daddy?”

Cursing again, overwhelmed with arousal, Ramsay slaps Theon across the face. _Stop proving how much you know me, how you’ve crawled under my skin like a knife._

Wiping his mouth briefly, removing a hint of blood, Theon moves to get on all fours on their bed, presenting himself submissively. Ramsay nearly shoves himself in and fucks like an animal. So far gone in lust, his cock aching for release, he can barely think. It only takes a moment for him to realize that his submissive is trying to outwit him _yet again_.

He scrapes his nails down Theon’s rear, drawing thin lines of blood. The sight of blood makes his cock ache even harder. Theon grunts in pain and Ramsay’s voice is hoarse as he says, “Cunt, _no_. You aren’t getting out of this so easily. Impressive, really; you _almost_ made me change my mind about how this night is going to go.”

Flipping Theon over onto his back once more, Ramsay glowers down at him, noting at once that Theon’s cock is rising up like a damn flagpole.

Theon’s cock is hard, the head purple and aching. The slit is drooling obscenely and Ramsay feels a cruel smirk tilt his mouth at the sight. His boy wants this so bad, even if he’s too terrified to admit to it. He’s afraid of what Ramsay has planned, but knew saying ‘no’ outright would only gain punishment.

Instead, Theon tried to scheme his way into _being fucked_ instead of being the one _fucking_.

Reaching out a hand, Ramsay circles Theon’s cock, feeling the heated weight of it in his palm. With dark, wasteland eyes, he asks menacingly, “This is mine, isn’t it?”

Theon’s throat works slowly. “Yes.” His voice is just above a whisper.

“Your body is mine, right?”

A careful nod.

For the first time in his life, Ramsay rises up over a cock, positioning it at his entrance as he kneels over Theon’s hips. That blunt, fat tip is wet against Ramsay’s entrance and he reaches towards the nightstand to put a dollop of lube on his hand.

He’s not a fucking idiot. Ramsay strokes Theon’s erection roughly, watching the anxiety living on Theon’s face. Pushing the tip against his small ring of muscle once again, Ramsay hisses, “You are mine and I’m the last person you will ever fuck.”

Then, he uses his weight to bear down on the thick appendage.

It’s almost in slow motion, the way Theon’s hands scrabble at the sheets, clutching at them madly. His inhales and exhales become panicked and shallow and Ramsay distantly find his fear arousing, despite the burn in his rear.

He tries to avoid tightening his body with discomfort, feeling his gut cramp momentarily.

Theon has a fat fucking cock and Ramsay already knew that Theon’s tongue and fingers wouldn’t be enough. Theon likely knew as well, which is why he tried to dissuade Ramsay from this course of action. It’s hard work, taking in inch after thick inch, feeling Theon’s large vein running down the side of his cock. He can feel Theon’s heartbeat fluttering inside of him, inside his body and it’s a wild thing to experience. Theon’s heart is like a hummingbird, wild and quick, beating at his sensitive insides through Theon’s rigid flesh.

But, fuck. It burns, the stretch so absolutely complete. Theon touches everything inside of him, filling all those empty spaces with his fat meat.

“Are you doing okay?” He asks, staring down at the trembling form below him. He should ask, right? That’s the _proper_ thing to do, isn’t it? That’s what his doctor would tell him to say, anyway. It’s a good thing that Ramsay took his pills earlier.

A good thing indeed. Otherwise, he might’ve just torn Theon’s dick off instead.

Theon is staring up at him with a stricken expression, mouth open as he pants. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“You’re the one that’s scared,” Ramsay rasps, wincing a bit as he sinks ever further down.

Those beautiful, rebellious eyes are like the endless expanse of the ocean just outside their windows, the soft lull of it ever present in their lives. “I’m scared of hurting you,” Theon breathes out and Ramsay’s black heart hurts a just little at the admission.

He wants to say, _you should be scared. _But, instead- “You could never hurt me,” Ramsay hisses, sinking down the rest of the way with a gasp that proves his words are a lie.

Theon’s head snaps back into the pillows, a hand covering his eyes. “Oh, God. _Oh_.”

The stricken sound of Theon’s voice eases the pain, thought Ramsay’s mouth is still twisted in distinct discomfort as he stares down at his shuddering submissive. Despite their roles here, there is still no mistaking who is in charge now.

Theon may have had his moment playing his games earlier, but now Ramsay is in control, a familiar place.

“Look at me,” Ramsay rasps, fighting down the sensation of pain.

The body beneath him is shaking raggedly and Theon is panting like he’s run miles. His fingers dig into his face as he continues hiding his gaze, teeth biting into his lower lip. “Ramsay, I-”

“Look. At. Me.”

The hand drops away and Theon’s eyes are wide, dark in the shadowed room. Those eyes rove Ramsay’s face in a nervous manner, cataloguing every expression, every hint of discomfort. A pleading note enters Theon’s voice as he says, “I’m sorry. Please don’t. I’ll take it out, I’m so sorry-”

“You will do no such thing,” Ramsay snaps, pinning Theon down by the wrists. “You want me, don’t you?”

Theon looks ashamed, eyes meeting Ramsay’s hard stare before flickering away quickly. “I do.” It’s barely a whisper.

Ramsay experimentally moves his hips slowly, front to back instead of lifting himself up and down. He can feel the drag of Theon’s cock head against his insides, touching places that have never been touched before. He feels the panicked throb of Theon’s heartbeat inside of him and loves the thrill, knowing how nervous his boy is, how terrified. Theon looks strangled and Ramsay continues to rotate his hips a bit, trying to grow more used to the thick girth filling him. “Do I make your fat cock feel good?”

Theon moans. “I…of course, Sir.”

Heat coils in Ramsay’s belly at the unexpected slip from Theon. He doesn’t usually enforce the respectful term outside of their scene play, but now Theon is clinging to it, craving it in this moment. Wants to enforce verbally that Ramsay is his master, that Ramsay has all the power in this moment and Theon is willing to bow to whatever Ramsay wants.

Theon does not want to be in control here, not anymore.

Shifting his hips lightly, back and forth back and forth, Ramsay eventually starts rotating his hips harder. Grinding down, enjoying the feeling of Theon bottoming out inside of him, the way Theon gasps weakly. He yanks on the collar at Theon’s throat, snarling down at his boy, “Tell me how I make you feel.”

Theon whines, his hips pushing up suddenly, driving deep into Ramsay. “You’re so tight…”

“Uh huh. Obviously. Keep going.”

“You’re milking my cock, so hot and tight. It’s so good…I’m going to cum…”

“Oh, not yet, you aren’t,” Ramsay sighs languorously as his insides begin to heat and soften around the intrusion.

Theon’s hands are on his hips and one places Ramsay’s hand on his cock, bouncing with their movements. Getting the idea quick enough, Ramsay starts stroking himself, feeling his ass quiver and tighten with sudden arousal and he roughly jerks at his flesh.

“Maybe sure you aim your cum at my face,” Theon rasps tightly, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. He wants the humiliation, craves it. “I want you to mark me. You can choke me a bit, if you need to. If you need it.”

Ramsay is going to ignore the insinuation at the end there.

The idea is welcome, of course, so Ramsay places his other hand on the skin not covered by Theon’s collar and begins to squeeze, gaze narrowing down to Theon beginning to struggle for air. This will help Ramsay’s orgasm along, without a doubt.

His gut tightens, churning with liquid fire. His cock aches and leaks in his hand as he roughly rides the thickness filling him to the brim. Letting his head tip back a bit, Ramsay gives a lazy grin full of cruelty. He chuckles a bit. “You have a nice, fat cock Greyjoy.”

“Sir,” Theon sounds strangled, trying to get air as Ramsay tighten his hold on his neck. “Ple-”

“Not quite sure what you need this thing for, if I’m honest,” Ramsay pretends to muse as he rolls his hips harder, causing Theon to cry out loudly. “Must be so distracting for you, going on tour with this fat, hungry thing in your pants. Wanting to fuck and all.”

Theon seizes against the hand on his throat, struggling to breathe. Probably beginning to see stars across his vision, building his orgasm to a peak. In his struggles, he tilts his hips and thrusts up at a strange angle that has Ramsay without air himself.

“Do that again,” he snaps, fire in his eyes as he watches Theon struggle to gain oxygen.

Seeing something on Ramsay’s face, Theon tilts his hips again, awkwardly, before drive upwards hard.

“There. Fucking do it right there. Harder,” Ramsay orders breathlessly, clenching his teeth, chasing his climax.

His boy jumps to the command. Theon drills up hard with his hips, nearly lifting them off the bed with his thrusts. He pounds up against the place that has Ramsay seeing stars, harder and harder, crying out his pleasure as he does so.

For a few moments, Ramsay releases his grip on Theon’s neck so that he can brace himself on the headboard.

Theon makes a desperate sound below him. “Sir, I’m going to…can I?”

Ramsay feels his inner muscles tightening almost painfully, gearing up for an eruption. He’s utterly pleased to hear Theon ask permission. He almost always does, but Theon’s been gone a long time…and he’s been a little bitch tonight. He nods to Theon, barely having time to say, “Cum in me, baby girl.”

The reaction is instantaneous and Theon’s trim abdomen tights violently with the force of his climax.

Theon cries out, the sound crossing between desperate and fucking broken. Ramsay is shocked to feel heat fill him, distantly realizing that Theon is filling him with all his cum. Distantly, his mind makes the jump to something far more degraded, musing on if this is how Theon feels when Ramsay fills him with cum or piss. He shudders, the filth of the thought shoving him over the edge.

When Ramsay cums, he spurts wildly, harder than he’s ever cum before in recent memory. Thick ropes of white shoot up, painting Theon on his chin, lips, and neck. Ramsay gives a laugh that is more of a moan than anything as he sees his mess, still riding out his orgasm as his ass quivers on the meat inside of him.

For a moment, there is only the sound of their rough breathing. Ramsay opens his eyes after a minute, once his cock stops jerking with lazy spurts of cum in the aftermath. He stares down at his submissive and finds himself ridiculously pleased with how it all turned out.

He probably won’t allow them to do it this way often, but…maybe as a reward for his submissive.

Theon looks wrecked, torn to shreds from the inside out. He’s holding onto Ramsay’s like he’s afraid, covered in his cum; Ramsay has never found him to be more attractive. It’s sickening, really. The emotions that come with this whole torrid affair. Knowing that he’s given something of himself to Theon that he can never take back.

It’s stupidly sentimental and Ramsay doesn’t want any part of it.

Theon sits up the best he can with Ramsay still astride his cock. He looks anxious, like he still fears punishment. “I’m sorry about earlier. I should have just told you that I belonged to you, at dinner. It was stupid of me to let you get upset.”

Ah, back to that debacle. Ramsay is already passed it, too tired and sated to care. “Be quiet, Theon.”

“Ramsay, you know I lo-”

Something akin to panic bursts into life inside of Ramsay at the sound of those words coming forth. Quickly, Ramsay presses his mouth to Theon’s, stopping him from completing his sentence. Theon groans as he tastes whiskey on Ramsay’s tongue, drinking in the forbidden taste.

It’s a good distraction, as Theon laps at his mouth like a starving man.

Actions have always spoken louder than words for Ramsay. He can’t bear to hear Theon say the dreaded words, the words that mean something more. Something that Ramsay isn’t sure he understands.

The ocean waves crash outside their window, and that’s the only sound they need to hear. Theon needs to be alright with that.

His submissive continues kissing him, shoving his tongue down Ramsay’s throat with a sort of broken desperation. Vaguely, Ramsay decides he should drink more often and have Theon lick it from his mouth. It’s a better thought to dwell on than wondering if he breaks Theon’s heart, being this emotionally stunted.

Ramsay lets Theon’s cock slip from his body and he winces, glad to focus on the physical pain, not the mental one.

_You’re mine, _Ramsay thinks as he lies down on Theon’s chest cuddling him the way Theon likes. Ramsay certainly doesn’t like it.

_You’re mine. _It’s as close to love as Ramsay will ever get, but maybe someday that will change. All he knows is ownership right now, but…they have time…

_Maybe next year, _Ramsay thinks sleepily, _when he’s not such a cocky shit. _

He falls easily into sleep, dreaming of darkness, murder and misery. Perhaps when he wakes in the middle of the night, hard and aching after a snuff-like dream, he’ll stick his cock where it belongs and fuck Theon nice and slow, thinking of blood and everything that nightmares are made of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN:** OMG I can't believe I finally got around to finalizing this. It was a very random moment of inspiration and I'm mostly pleased with how it turned out. I'm sorry this took so long, I ended up working on one of my original works offline so I could get that close to completed. As usual, this AU for Thramsay has a strange, dark special place in my heart. I may revisit one day...who knows.
> 
> **For now, I'll be mostly working on my other pseud with my original works and will try my best to give my love of Thramsay a short break :D**
> 
> Kudos and comments are absolutely loved!!

**Author's Note:**

> **AN:** Comments and kudos are loved! Thank you!
> 
> It was lovely taking a small break from these two, but it was equally fun coming back to them to finish this chapter (I had actually started this some time ago...just never put the final touches to it). Actually, can't guarantee that I won't make future edits to this. Ramsay POVs are always tough cookies.


End file.
